


Sunlight

by snowkatze



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Translation Available, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: Geralt can't figure Jaskier out. All he knows is that things are harder with him around than they were without him. So he drives him away - after all, witchers don't have feelings, do they?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 45
Kudos: 768





	Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> This is set around the time Geralt yells at Jaskier to leave in the TV show (before and after).
> 
> [Russian translation by PetCheetah11 available](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9111951?__cf_chl_jschl_tk__=2255688de7e1cffa2515995380f17eaa15b95587-1593386148-0-AXvPIGlXb9MhdN7PjF0CBC9bK_Vo4tfkDq6UMqGgq75Onf1nKgjvoKe8EC46zRVhc6Mb3xYF-wvY0jxbjbOkntGlVkmK4u6d6VjA9tuU3y3Spn3pmlDTIMmsVENKVVhyVldZIUjo2zfaAdIK2A_35KTHh-MOrQba8hFFwWXBEcYuO2N_5Ku7QbbP_bKQeD4Y6PM3yGn6haVznyjVq-rcpuqc8mpA7Mn2unONKLMkqTiWojxSUpJKDBAxTBqun-osrNyEfDIQ2K6iIMajEVHHVYLh_FipHaICx8K9JmwCZSB_q2E5j0Su9uOg8U6z_zHCuSmlkWIqOkJhCcUAqAHEfi5Cfk976venGzK1sBBlMkOc)

“This is how life was meant to be lived,” Jaskier said. “The sun kissing your skin, the grass under your back. There's no better feeling, don't you think so, Geralt?”  
Geralt squinted at the sun from where he was leading Roach to the river. Then he looked back at Jaskier.

“Witchers don't have feelings,” he said in his low voice, but not without humour.

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier said. “That's your excuse for everything. _Let me charge into battle for I don't feel pain. Let's walk for hours on end for I don't feel a need to rest.”_ Jaskier moved one arm under his head and gesticulated with his other. “ _Some_ of us are human.”

“ _Some_ of us are trying to have some peace and quiet,” Geralt said, watching the river. It took a right turn into the forest down by the acorn tree. 

“You know, if you didn't have feelings, you wouldn't get so annoyed all the time.”

Garelt made a vague noise, presumably dismissive in nature.

“Yeah, that's right,” Jaskier said, waving his finger around. “I can see right through you.”  
Geralt tensed subtly, but continued guiding Roach to the water. He carefully kept his eyes on her as she began drinking. There was something heavy lodged in his stomach and he had to take a few breaths before it disappeared. Jaskier was already talking again.

“I know there are people who enjoy doing things, but I'm not one of them. It's just not for me. Doing things? No thanks. I'll just do nothing.”  
“Then why are you talking?” Geralt said through gritted teeth.

“Okay, okay,” Jaskier conceded. “Maybe not quite nothing. Nothing with some light conversation sprinkled on top.”

Geralt went looking through his bag to find something to feed Roach.

“It doesn't have to be a conversation, really,” Jaskier continued.

There was still an apple left from the farm they had passed in the morning.

“I quite like the sound of my own voice, really,” Jaskier said.

“At least _someone_ does,” Geralt growled. Him included.

“I'll have you know that my voice is widely beloved,” Jaskier said indignantly, “beloved all over the place, in all lands, all taverns, by all river sides. Well. All I've visited – which is not _quite_ all, but -”

Geralt closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. He let the chatter wash over him. It was quite peaceful, all things considered.

People said it was a bad idea to get close to a Witcher. Which, of course, was correct. Jaskier, though, didn't seem to care what people said. Or common sense. Or even the smallest of survival instincts.

So Geralt wasn't used to people trying to get close to him. It was a bad idea. He had yet to discover the amount of sniping and snarling he had to do to make Jaskier realize that too.

Geralt could deal with people, usually. Most people were straight forward about what they wanted. A monster killed. Sex. A fight. Geralt gave it to them or he didn't. He left a mess behind or he didn't. Then he moved on to the next one. It was easy. It was simple.

Jaskier was – difficult.

At first it was easy. Mindless curiosity. Fame, maybe. Possibly a hidden death wish. But then Jaskier stayed. And that was – a little – somehow – how -

It was irritating.

_Where is the monster you want me to kill for you, bard?  
_

Some nights, Jaskier got – quiet. Normally, Geralt would have enjoyed the peace. He could do companionable silence. Not when it was Jaskier.

He was sitting under a tree, lute in his arm, playing a small, sad melody. Over and over.

“You're not writing a song about me, are you?” Geralt said. Jaskier didn't smile.

“The world doesn't revolve around you, Geralt,” Jaskier said.

Geralt didn't know what to say, so he didn't. He didn't know where to push. It was bad enough talking. It was worse talking about  _this_ .

They said in silence for a while. Then, Jaskier began to sing to his tune, very quietly. Garelt could make out words like  _sweet_ and  _kiss_ .

“Are you writing a love song?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier paused, his fingers hovering over the strings of his lute. Geralt got the distinct feeling he was doing this wrong. There were different rules for different situations. Normally, interest and questions are appreciated. They didn't seem to be now.

Maybe he was asking the wrong kind of questions.

“No,” Jaskier said and continued on playing. Geralt decided not to call him out on his lie.

Some nights, Geralt couldn't keep his expression under control completely. He roused from his sleep – from his nightmares – from the faces haunting him. The girl in the woods haunting him. The princess. He woke with a gasp, heavy breathing. It woke Jaskier.

“What's wrong?” Jaskier asked, immediately leaning forward and placing a hand on Geralt's shoulder. Geralt sucked in a sharp breath. _Nothing –_ he wanted to say, but he liked to think of himself as a better liar. _You weren't supposed to see-_

He calmed his breathing. Schooled his expression.

“Nightmare,” he said simply.

“What did you dream about?” Jaskier asked, softly, _kindly_. There was empathy in his gaze. It was too much to bear.

“Your singing,” Geralt said and turned away. He tried to will himself to sleep. To dream. Something nice, for once. Maybe Jaskier. Hopefully not Jaskier.

“How many humans are you going to kill,” Jaskier started. Geralt's whole body tensed. He held still. “And how many monsters are you going to save,” Jaskier continued tiredly, “before you admit that you care?”

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that Jaskier wouldn't see.

Fighting used to be easy. The stakes were clear. The reward was too. He went into the fight knowing the risk. It was day-to-day for a Witcher. Fight until you die. There was nothing else.

Now, though. Now the stakes were higher. He didn't go into batte alone. There was a human, with next to no fighting skill and no sense of self-preservation – _fragile_.  
It made decisions harder – it made plans harder -

It was a price harder to pay.

When he was lying there – hurting -

When another monster slashed across his chest -

and he might not make it

_but he's going to make it._

Witchers don't cry. You need to _feel_ to cry.

And he makes it -

and he's fine -

and he's chattering -

but -

_I'm starting to think your monster is -_

Jaskier was irritating. Nearly impossible to get rid of.

Geralt growled and Jaskier stayed.

Geralt lashed out and Jaskier stayed.

Geralt argued and argued and Jaskier stayed.

Then, he discovered the _nearly_ in _impossible_.

Why were his cheeks wet?

Witchers don't get lonely. They're meant to be alone. A lonely witcher is like a drowning fish.

He certainly didn't use to be lonely _before_. Did he?

Things were easier now. More... straight-forward. More... logical. Practical. Geralt didn't need to be needed. He didn't need to be _liked_. He just needed to get the job done. And he did.

_Only, it didn't get the job done and his chest was still – tight._

His conversations with Roach were not quite as lively as they used to be.

Geralt found himself humming that damned melody more often. It still felt like something was missing.

Best of all was the peace, of course. He should have driven Jaskier away years ago – he'd tried for years, just not that hard.

It was easier without Jaskier.

And why would he miss him? It's not like he'd never had a friend before. A real friend. Or someone to trust. Or someone to make him smile. He'd had that, he was sure of it, a life-time ago -

And he wasn't wondering what Jaskier was doing – if he was doing fine – if he was still senselessly throwing himself in danger. What songs he was composing.

Geralt was restless. There was no sleep. He had to know, had to know he was safe. He remembered him sitting there under a tree, leaning against the wall, strolling ahead.

All Geralt wanted was _some god damn peace_.

All Geralt wanted was seeing Jaskier.

Geralt was in a tavern – he was in taverns a lot these days - _not_ looking for him. There was a bard singing – not _the_ bard – and he was singing about a 'humble bard' accompanying a witcher.

And Geralt didn't feel things -

it was just that weight on his chest -

his mind full of thoughts, full of Jaskier -

And Geralt didn't need anyone but -

it was so much harder.

Geralt considered himself to be a good liar, but not that good.

_I miss him_ , he thought. And then it hit him like a knife to the stomach – like putting on glasses after walking around half-blind your whole life.

_He was my friend._

_Was._

_But I wanted him to be -something else._

“Got kicked in his chest,” the bard sang.

“Fuck,” Geralt said.

He didn't look for him. It might not have been easier on him, but it was certainly easier on Jaskier.

It was a bad idea to get close to a witcher, after all. Geralt had proven it. Forgiveness would be hard-earned – hard-kept, probably. Just because suddenly there was that _something_ in his chest, didn't mean it was hard not to push away, to open up, to trust. Though it was always, always, easier when it was Jaskier.

One day, he simply saw him sitting there, on the ground, with his lute, as if destiny had put him there. Geralt had stopped in his tracks and stared.

“Jaskier,” he said, unable to stop himself. Jaskier looked up, something haunted in his eyes before he recognized Geralt. Then his expression turned sour.

“Huh?” he said. “You talking to me? Not beneath your notice? Not just the fly next to your ear that you can just swat away?”

And the animal in Geralt immediately bared its teeth.

“Maybe if you would stop buzzing-”

He stopped himself and tried to reign in his temper. He didn't deserve a second chance – second chance? How many chances had Jaskier given him already?

“Jaskier, I'm sorry,” he said.

Jaskier eyed him warily.  
“For what?”  
“Everything. Pushing you away. You are – you were my friend. I shouldn't have denied it.”

Jaskier pushed himself up and started walking towards Geralt now. His gaze was still guarded.

“You're taking it back? That you want me gone? That everything is my fault?”  
“I'm sorry for saying these things. I was – I didn't mean any of it. I'm just... sorry.”  
Jaskier's whole face lit up.

“Then I am.”  
“What?”  
“Your friend.”  
“You shouldn't forgive me so easily,” Geralt said uncertainly.

“Oh, you know how bad I am at listening,” Jaskier said, seemingly unconcerned. “Giving me advice is a useless endeavour, you should know that by now.”

Jaskier started fiddling with his lute and walking ahead. “Let's go to that tavern nearby. Why are you here? Are you hunting a monster? Are we going to -”  
“Jaskier.”  
Jaskier turned around and startled when he saw that Geralt wasn't following him.

“I think...” Geralt said and braced himself. “I might have... _some_ feelings.”  
“You don't say.”  
“ _Jaskier_.”

Jaskier crossed his arms and looked to the ground.

“I never really expected you to admit that we're friends. Or see me as a friend,” he shrugged, clearly trying to seem unbothered. “It's fine.”  
“That's not what I -”

Frustrated, Geralt turned his head. He couldn't find the right words. Geralt didn't have many words. People didn't understand him. People _mis_ understood him. Jaskier had an abundance of words, but he could understand a language that didn't.

“Some feelings, huh?” he said and licked his lips. “Yeah. Me too.”

Geralt leaned down, leaned closer. He carefully put a hand to Jaskier's cheek.

“I thought – I was the monster haunting you -” Geralt said suddenly. He couldn't keep the thought in any more.

“You're not my monster,” Jaskier said quietly, “you're my witcher.”

_Emotions_ , Geralt thought. He didn't know how humans could handle it. He leaned a little closer.

“Is this okay?” he said when their lips were almost touching.

“You act as if I've never done this before,” Jaskier said, “will you just get on wi-”

Geralt pressed their lips together gently.

It was like sunlight on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> After listening to "Her Sweet Kiss", I felt inspired to write this. (Why listen to your lecture when you might as well take notes to plan a fanfiction?)
> 
> Hope you liked it!


End file.
